Homestuck: Interwoven
by Malignent
Summary: A strange group of friends play a game together. But it wasn't the group we know and love. And the game is just a tad bit different.


MalignentLeprechaun [ML] has opened a chat room...

ML: Hey guys, whenever you feel like ditching the bull and jumping in, I'll be here.

SilverHead [SH] has joined the room...

SH: You maybe want to explain why we have to reorder our entire schedules just to join another chat that's obviously going to end up being another free-for-all?

ML: Just sit still for a while and wait for the others

SH: You're joking right? Do you have any idea how much work I could be getting done right now?

thomas0zane [tz] has joined the room...

SH: Hm, I honestly didn't expect you to show up so soon... what, not enough illegal substance to keep you tied down?

tz: man i'll never understand how you guys could look down on that shit I send you, that's some grade-a stuff right there. premiere.

SH: Dear god, would you please capitalize properly?

tz: or what? you'll go grammar nazi on me again?

SH: You're doing it on purpose! I know for a fact that 'Nazi' would have been auto-corrected!

tz: this man speaks lies mal.

GrieveWriter [GW] has joined the room...

SH: Dear god...

GW: WELL IT SEEMS THAT THE ENTIRE GANG'S HERE. WHOOPTY DO! WHAT DO YOU GUYS WANT?! DON'T YOU KNOW I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF SOME IMPORTANT SHIT OVER HERE!

tz: well sam, you wanted capitalization.

GW: SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU LOW-LIFE! MALCOLM, THIS DAMN WELL BETTER BE IMPORTANT!

ML: Listen, me and Tyra found a game online yesterday. It's called Sburb

GW: YOU CALLED US OVER TO TALK ABOUT THAT BITCH?! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!?

SH: Would you please restrain yourself?

GW: WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP BEING A LITTLE PISSANT!? OH WAIT, I FORGOT... IT'S HOW YOU WERE RAISED!

SH: Malcolm, please finish the discussion before I lose my manner.

ML: Anyway it seemed pretty sweet, so I wanted to know if you guys were game or not.

GW: YOU DISRUPTED ME, AND MY SEARCHING... TO PLAY A GAME YOU FOUND ON THE GOD DAMN INTERNET!?

tz: geez man, calm your tits. besides we all know you've got more than enough puppet porn

GW: IT'S NOT PORN... IT'S. FUCKING. ART

ML: It's not just any game, supposed to be top level stuff. I hear that only the hardest badasses are playing it.

GW: OBVIOUSLY ITS NOT SO GREAT IF I HAVEN'T PLAYED IT YET

ML: Anyway me and Tyra got in a bit of a scuffle and she's planning on playing it with her friends. Just wanted to let you guys know that she's confident in whipping our asses.

GW: AS MUCH AS I'D LOVE TO BITCH-SLAP THAT IDEA'S COLLECTIVE STUPIDITY OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW, I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT

tz: man you gonna pussy out on us?

GW: I DON'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING FOR YOU SHITS

Mikewarrior [Mw] has joined the room...

Mw: Good day gentlemen, sorry I'm late.

GW: OH NO, WE'RE THRILLED TO SEE YOU. WHICH VERSION OF BULLSHIT WOULD YOU LIKE US TO FILL YOU IN ON?

Mw: I take it he's already unreasonable.

tz: man, he's been tripping balls for as long as i can remember

SH: Okay, that's it. I know for a fact that the 'I' would've been auto-corrected

ML: Listen I'm not going to force anybody to play it, just saying the reward is massive

GW: REWARD? YOU GUYS AREN'T FUCKING CHEATING ME OUT OF A REWARD! NEITHER ARE THOSE WHORES!

tz: good thinking mal

Mw: Someone want to tell me what's going on?

tz: we about to play one badass game apparently

GW: Good, now there's a very specific way we start up. I'll send you most of the instructions with the game.

Mw: Wow, it's been so long since we all played something together.

GW: WOULDN'T BE SO LONG IF YOU'D GET YOURSELF SOMETHING OTHER THAN THAT SHITTY COMPUTER YOU HAVE

tz: much as i hate agreeing with him, douche's got a point

ML: Okay, the game files should be heading to your Emails, just follow the instruction i left and we should be fine.

tz: who wants to bet greg fucks it all up?

GW: I WILL COME FOR YOU IN MOTHERFUCKING NIGHTMARES ASSHOLE

SH: I'd like to partake in such a bet.

ML: Guys stay focused... we really want to get this right.

MalignentLeprechaun has closed the chat room...

* * *

You are now Malcolm Fremels.

As a believer in the universal code of not giving a shit, you find it hard to believe you were actually able to succeed in convincing those idiots to play the game you and Tyra found.

Hopefully she had convinced the girls to play as well, maybe the idea of beating the boys will be enough to convince the?

Whatever, you don't give enough shit to care. Women were always too complicated.

When you aren't dicking around with your pals online, you're typing. Doesn't really matter what you're typing, comments, fanfics, info docs, you just like typing period...

**+{Malcolm: Examine room**

Your room's a bit messy, but you haven't given a shit about it for the longest of times. There are roach corpses lying in the corner with a bunch of pesticide tablets. Your bed lies bare with the sheets tossed haphazardly on the floor next to it. The door to your room has a plethora of scratches on it and your closet is stuffed to the brim with new clothes. You never got around to taking the tags off them= so you figured you'd just wear the same clothes you wore before. Needless to say you haven't changed clothes in about three years.

Not like you're trying to impress anyone.

Prepped up against the window is your keyboard, pretty much the only other thing you give a shit about besides typing.

**+{Malcolm: Captchalogue keyboard**

You captchalog the keyboard and instantly lose it in the junk-filled wasteland that is your Lazy Clutter fetch modus. Usually you never really have any need for this deck, so you just dig around at random until you find something useful. You'll probably never see that keyboard again.

Well, unless you give a shit and look for it.

Maybe later.

Hanging on the wall is a replica of Indiana Jones's whip, bought by your uncle at a Movie convention a couple years ago.

You didn't really care for the Indiana Jones series. But then again, you never care about movies in general.

**+{Malcolm: Equip whip.**

You equip the whip in your Strife Specibus. If the game was going to go the way you expected it to, you'll need it.

**+{Malcolm: Examine walls.**

Tyra always says your walls are bland and boring. You're no fool, you've seen the bull she puts up... you'll never fall to that low... wait...

Hanging near your closet door is a poster for Two and a Half Men.

Damnitt, you're uncle must have gotten in somehow. He's a diehard fan of that show. You must get rid of it lest Tyra find it and taunt you.

**+{Malcolm: Captchalogue Two and a Half Men poster.**

You quickly take down the poster and captchalogue it into your deck.

Breathing a sigh of relief you return to your computer to see if the files were sent properly.

Your computer is new... the cool kind of new.

Your uncle insisted, says he wanted you guys to have the nice tech for when it matters.

Whatever... hopefully those guys will follow the instructions.

**+{Malcolm: Head to Tyra's room.**

You exit your room and make your way to Tyra's.

* * *

**+{Malcolm: Be Greg**

You are now Gregory Fawkes.

The dark interior of your room does nothing to soothe the headache those bastards gave you as you stare at the loading screen on your computer.

In the corner of your room lie a plethora of puppets. Their heartwarmingly freakish eyes glare at you with the full power of three years of sheer neglect.

Whatever, you've got new puppets anyway.

**+{Greg: Explore room**

Your room is the same dark and gloomy place its been since your parents wheeled you in here. The interior has a purple design to it, was probably wonderful until you got stuck here. The remains of puppets lie all around your floor. The massive machine that serves as your computer was littered with fabric that you have to clean up every now and then.

You here the roar of a savage animal drift in through your window, you snarl and slam it shut. It does nothing to end the beast's roars. This kind of thing happens several times a day.

No surprise you haven't slept well in weeks. A testament to this are the dark bags under your eyes.

Your closet door hangs open, with a life-size replica of Pennywise hanging out. You always did love the way his horrific grin would pierce through the darkness. Imbedded in his shoulder was a cleaver, its shiny blade reflecting the miniscule amount of moonlight piercing the darkness.

**+{Greg: Captchalogue Cleaver.**

You captchalogue the Cleaver to your strife specibus. Pennywise doesn't seem to mind.

**+{Greg: Captchalogue more crap**

You walk over to the chest in the other corner of your room and flip it open to find the more recent additions to your puppet collection. Their glassy eyes were much more perfect than that crap in the pile. You pick one up and run your tongue along his head. The carving was masterful.

A little nibble to the arm.

Sewn by a god obviously.

You take a deep breath before captchaloging the work of art.

Your deck immediately recognizes the clothing of said puppet and attaches it to a hanger before placing it in a card next to another puppet with similar clothing. Your Clothier deck is mostly used for organizing your clothes, but due to the size of your puppets they can easily tag along.

You look into the chest once more and gasp. At the very bottom, you spot the disembodied head of Gaggles the comedic showman puppet.

**+{Greg: Initiate Puppet repair protocol**

You swear you feel a tear roll down your face. You switch over to your Doorbell fetch modus quickly. Forgetting about your previous items, which are ejected unceremoniously on the floor.

With another snarl, you quickly captchalogue the head of Gaggles. A chime of three doorbell rings in the fast, slow, slow order. To interact with the head, you must now ring the doorbell on the card in the exact same order. You walk to your desk and ring the doorbell fast, slow, slow and the head is deposited onto the desk.

You promise to fix him before switching back to your Closet modus and gathering all your clothes and puppets once more.

You step back to your chair before sighing and taking a seat. You open a drawer and retrieve a first aid kit. Opening it, you find it full of sewing needles and cloth.

You've never been stupid enough to get yourself injured, so you just dumped the original contents in one of the kitchen drawers.

Now a damaged puppet, THAT was a real emergency.

Before you can get to work fixing Gaggles, your computer notifies you that the game, which Malcolm thought was SOOOO important, had finished loading.

Sighing, you glance at poor Gaggles before getting the opening the instructions that were included with the Game files.

Next up, you wait for Tom.

Wait... WHAT!?

Why did you have to wait for that junkie!?

Did they not know who the fuck you were!?

The roaring outside was getting louder.

**+{Greg: Take out rage on the native wildlife**

You stomp over to the window before yanking it up and leaning out.

Miles below you see the base of the volcano.

Originally the architects wanted to build you a tower, But the great Fawkes family would never stoop to such a generic architectural representation of their power. your parents had them integrate the tower into the side of the volcano, drawing upon the heat of the molten lava within to power your home to potential far greater than the common filth and their "Electricity".

You've been alone here for about six years, and not once have you needed to change a light bulb.

"YOU BASTARDS BETTER SHUT THE HELL UP BEFORE I COME DOWN THERE AND MAKE BREAKFAST OUT OF YOU!" you scream to the creatures below

With that you slam the window shut.

You must find a way to remind the creatures of the forest of your power, lest they try to overtake you.

* * *

**+{ Greg: Be Tom**

You are now Tom Crevasse.

You have just finished installing the game your internet pal Mal sent you.

You get a feeling that it's going to be rad.

**+{Tom: Examine room**

Your room is too clean, as your older brother puts it. You imagine people would find a similar looking room inside a Barbie doll house.

The floors and walls seemed to be spotless, all your possessions placed away in convenient cabinets and drawers. Your bed looked as if you had the sheets steamed and tentatively placed on your bed.

Even your computer was spotless, as if you'd taken it straight from a shelf in a Best Buy before cleaning it.

But both of you know the truth of why you clean everything like a beast.

Since your thirteenth birthday, you and him have been challenging each other at who can hide the good stuff better. Weed is the metaphysical bond that connects you two as siblings.

He may have experience on his side, but you have the imagination of a kid.

Which is all you need.

This week, you've cleverly disguised the closet with a long fluffy jacket hanging partially out of it.

Within the jacket's pocket is an easily identifiable bag... of sugar.

Yes, you can picture it now.

He'll come in and instantly point out the packet, take it out and realize too late his most greatest of blunders.

Then, his pride will force him to retreat.

Never guessing that you in fact carved out a chunk of the wall, hollowed it out, then laced it with enough weed to put down an endangered species. You don't exactly know why an endangered species would smoke weed or why, you just know that the representation works.

Under your bed is perhaps the only other noticeable thing.

A toy cannon that you got from a toy store when you were twelve, it can be loaded with any small object and fired as if it were a real cannon. You've had hells of fun with it.

You've always been thankful that you were able to buy it before the store was closed down by Parents who'd argued against the store's "hazardous" playing materials.

Damn parents, they just don't understand how dangerous fun is supposed to be.

**+{Tom: Captchalogue Cannon**

You captchalogue your toy cannon, it's card is then filled with smoke and placed within your deck.

Your Puff Puff modus does this with everything you captchalogue. You'd gotten it back when you were in desperate need of a new place to hide your stash. With this, every card looks the same, covered in smoke and ash.

But they were very specific in the way the smoke is generated.

Your friends always think that you can hardly think because of your attraction to the hash.

Bunch of bull. You can distinguish small differences like a boss.

You allocate your toy cannon to your strife specibus.

It's safest in there.

Okay, time to get to the epicness that is Sburb

Before you can enter the game you are bombarded with a chat request from GloriousMistress.

Your eyes dart from the game window to the chat query a few times

You suppose the epicness can wait a few more minutes.

**+{Tom Answer GM**

* * *

thomas0zane[tz] has entered the room...

GM: There you are! You should be ashamed for keeping a lady waiting.

tz: hey cindy, good to hear from you again. how you doin girl?

GM: I see Samuel has not been able to dissolve your train of ignorant grammar abuse. No matter, that's not what I came to talk about.

GM: Tyra has informed us that that you boys are playing this Sburb thing as well.

tz: hell yeah, I was just about to get all up in this awesomeness

GM: I take it that Gregory is going to play as well?

tz: yeah, puppet boy's already clamoring for the prize and shit

GM: Good, I request that you pass along a message for me.

tz: can't you just message him?

GM: He's blocked me.

tz: make another account

GM: And give up this one, never! It is beautiful and describes me perfectly.

tz: girl, you're gonna have to give up the high and regal thing if you wanna survive on the internet.

GM: Just give him the message!

tz: okay, okay, no need to get your panties in a bunch.

GM: Okay, tell him. Tell him how dreadful his gaming skills are.

tz: okay?

GM: Tell him how much the world rue's the very thought of him! Oh yes, and tell him how awfully dressed he is!

tz: you've seen him in real life?

GM: No, but I'm making an educated guess!

GM: Tell him how horrible he'll be at this game! And also, tell him how much higher I am on the proverbial ladder of -how you say-"awesomeness".

tz: damn girl, you cold

GM: I know, he'll be absolutely ruined when he hears these taunts! Absolutely ruined!

tz: so, is that all you wanted?

GM: Exactly what I wanted, thank you Thomas, you've been ever so serviceable.

GloriousMistress[GM] has left the room...

thomas0zane[tz] has left the room...

* * *

If you didn't know any better, you'd think Greg and Cindy liked taunting each other.

They do this kind of thing once a week at the bare minimum.

Throwing insults in that weird way they do.

Whatever, the game's still ready and waiting.

**+{Tom: Begin**

You connect to your server player.

The game presents the scene of a dark and gloomy island.

Creeeeeepyyyyyy.

But it's hard as dicks to see anything.

**+{Tom: Increase brightness settings.**

You increase the screen's brightness, it makes a bit easier to see things.

There's a volcano, and a temple of sorts.

Hm, seems to be a construct built into the side of the volcano.

It looks decrepit as hell, but it is the brightest thing on the island.

You zoom in on the construct, up close it seems that it was pretty clean looking at one point.

You enter the construct.

...

You've never seen so many puppets in your entire fucking life.

Unlike the exterior, the interior was fairly well kept.

But it was stuffed chuck full of fucking puppets.

Thousands upon thousands of them littered the floor. All over the place.

You continue looking through the puppet-filled construct.

In one room you spot a boy.

His hair is knotted to all hell, and he seems to be yelling at random stuff in the room. His eyes look glazed as fuck, kind of like how your brother looks when you two share blunts in the living room.

Well, you pretty much know who it is already.

* * *

**+{Tom: Be Greg**

You are now Greg, and it appears that someone wishes to chat with you.

You cease shouting and look at the query.

Well, seems like the dirty junkie finally decided to show up.

**+{Greg: Answer Tom**

* * *

GrieveWriter[GW] has entered the room...

tz: jesus man, what's with all the fucking puppets?

GW: I'VE ALREADY TOLD YOU! THEY ARE WORKS OF ART. AND ARE REQUIRED TO BE WORSHIPPED PUBLICLY, LIKE THEY WERE DESTINED TO BE!

tz: yeah, but i thought that was just you fucking with us over the internet. i didn't think you actually had puppets all over the place.

GW: WAIT...

GW: HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW THAT!?

tz: i'm looking at this shit right now. it's actually kind of creepy.

GW: BULLSHIT!

tz: where's your family man? all i'm seeing is puppets

GW: NO NO NO NO NO NO!

tz: hey, why do you live on island?

GW: FUCK, ARE YOU FUCKING STALKING ME!?

tz: naw man, as your host player i'm set up and seeing everything in your house at the present time

GW: HOST!? WHAT IS THIS BULLSHIT I'M HEARING!?

tz: simple man, instructions say we got to work together to get you in the game.

GW: FUCK THE GAME! WHY ARE YOU LOOKING THROUGH MY HOUSE!?

tz: hey, there's some free shit i can drop down.

GW: ARE YOU LISTENING!? GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!

tz: no wait man, i think i can do this.

* * *

You are interrupted from typing your frustrations by the sound of something smacking the wall.

You turn and gasp in horror as you see a floating green house cursor lifting your chest of mint-condition puppets in the air.

You leap for the chest, only for the cursor to suddenly get sporadic and drag it straight through the wall.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the cursor hold the chest above several stories of thin air.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

You scream as it lifts the chest away into the night.

You rush back to the computer

* * *

GW: GIVE IT BACK, YOU SHIT-EATING MAGGOT!

tz: okay, uhhhhhh...

tz: i think i dropped it on the roof.

GW: GOD. FUCKING. DAMN YOU!

tz: dude, you have a helipad?

GW: I WILL RIP OUT YOUR STILL BEATING HEART

tz: whatevs, i think i need to deploy this shit.

GW: OH NO, YOU'RE NOT DOING A GOD-DAMN THING!

tz: shit, hold on... this fucking thing is big.

GW: WHAT!?

* * *

You here a massive crash come from the foyer on the ground floor of your home.

Racing down the stairs you find a massive construct had been erected.

Under it were the remains of several crushed puppets.

You place your hands against the side of your head in an effort to remain calm.

**+{Greg: Flip the fuck out.**

You rage all the way back to your computer.

* * *

GW: WHAT. THE. FUCK?!

tz: man, i think i need some other shit too... why the hell you got so many puppets everywhere, i don't have much space to work with brah.

GW: YOU JUST WIPED OUT THREE GENERATIONS OF HAPPY TIME FRIENDS!

tz: what?

GW: CUDDLES WAS ABOUT TO PROPOSE TO SUNLIGHT! THEY WERE GOING TO GET FUCKING MARRIED!

tz: the-the puppets?

GW: NO THE OTHER ADORALE FAMILY YOU SLAUGHTERED, OF COURSE THE FUCKING PUPPETS!

tz: sheesh man, didn't think you'd get so peeved about a couple puppets. listen, I need to deploy some more stuff.

GW: NO! ANYTHING ELSE AND WE'LL HAVE A FUCKING PUPPET HOLOCAUST!

tz: fine, i'll move the damn puppets

GW: WAIT, WHAT?!

* * *

**+{Tom: Move the damn Puppets**

You select random piles of the crappy figures and begin stuffing them all into what appears to be Greg's kitchen. Damn thing was huge, you figured you could use the room.

Greg began scurrying around as you moved his puppets, acting all butt hurt about it and shit.

You roll your eyes as you deploy the Al- wait. How do you say that?

Al kem

Al keem Iter?

Whatever, the Alchemy thingy.

You deploy the Alchemy thingy near the Cruxtruder.

Next you need a totem Lathe.

What's with all the weird names?

Whatever...

You deploy the Totem lathe several yards away from the Alchemy thingy.

Despite the weird names, the stuff did look sweet.

**+{Greg: Furiously beat at machinery**

You swing your cleaver at the machines, hoping to piss Tom off enough to get him to move the damn things.

The Cleaver wasn't exactly holding up so well, you could see chips appear in the blade as you smashed it into the metal structures over and over again.

You strike the cylindrical top of the first machine and it pops open.

A glowing yellow orb floats out of the top as a timer on the machine activates.

Your angry snarls turn to an investigative groan as you eye the timer suspiciously.

**+{Greg: Interrogate Tom on the matter**

You return to your computer.

* * *

GW: TOM, ALLOW ME TO GIVE YOU A QUERY THAT I FIND DESPERATELY NEEDS TO BE ANSWERED

tz: sure man, i got shitloads of wisdom and shit

GW: IS THERE, BY ANY CHANCE, A FUCKING BOMB IN MY HOUSE?!

tz: please man, that ain't no bomb

tz: shit's just counting down to one big fucking meteor that's about crash directly into yo home

GW: OH, SO MUCH FUCKING BETTER! INSTEAD OF A REGUALR EXPLOSION. IT'S A FUCKING MASSIVE ONE!

tz: no worries man, i got this. just follow the rules and you'll be fine

GW: DAMNITT, THIS ISN'T FUCKING OVER CREVASSE!

* * *

You kick your chair away and pull open a drawer, inside is your Upad.

They were going to be the next generation of hand-held entertainment.

Unfortunately, your parents died before they were able to go mainstream.

**+{Greg: Captchalogue Upad**

You dump all your puppets and extra clothes in the closet before switching to your Doorbell modus.

You captchalogue the Upad

Fast, fast, slow

Grooooooooooooaaaan

**+{ Greg: Follow the fucking rules**

The sooner you get this shit done the sooner you can get that shit-eating stoner to return your puppets.

If you try retrieving them yourself, he'll probably threaten you by levitating off the side of the roof.

You didn't wanna risk hurting your puppets.

Damnitt! You'll never admit it, but he's basically got you by the balls.

Fuck. Him.

Malcolm and the others probably planned this as well.

Fuck that, you KNOW they did this shit on purpose.

Well screw the lot of them!

The minute you get your puppets back...

...they'll be fucking sorry.

* * *

**+{Greg: Be Malcolm**

You return to being Malcolm.

Tyra's room has just as much bullcrap in it as your remember.

Posters of boy-bands and popular dudes cover every inch of the walls. The smell of various perfumes mixed with the aroma of detergent. The closet was literally stuffed with merchandise.

Everything was bought brand-name, even the bed had some famous boy from a cheesy teen movie's face on it.

She always claims they were recreational, but you'd know the signs of a deranged fan girl a mile away.

Thankfully, you don't give a shit. She can be as crazy as she wants.

You and Tyra have been going over the game-plan, she's confirmed that all of her friends are currently following their set of instructions as well.

You both knew that your friends would never agree to work with each other unless it was competitive.

The prize is your goal, even though you want it for very different reasons than Tyra.

It'll be complicated, but you're sure that as long as nothing from the smallest depths of probability occurs, everything will be fine.

You get a sneaking suspicion you've just irreparably jinxed yourself.

Whatever, thing's always sort themselves out if you ignore them.

Tyra: Hey!

Malcolm: Oh, sorry. What'd you say?

Tyra: I asked if Greg's in the game yet!

Malcolm: Eh, Probably.

Tyra: What do you mean 'probably'!?

Malcolm: I gave them all instructions, I don't know if they'll follow them or not.

Tyra: For god sake's Mal, I have a lot riding on this.

Malcolm: Right, it's _'so'_ very important.

Tyra: Thank you.

Malcolm: Listen Ty, things will go fine. Take a load off, kick your feet up on that god-awful Jonas Brothers couch over there and relax.

Tyra: It's not awful! And you should pay more attention to what your half of the group is doing! At least I have the incentive to check in with them every fifteen minutes!

Malcolm: Oh, I'm sure they're _'so' grateful_

Tyra: I know they are!

This girl has no idea how to interpret sarcasm.

You know for a fact that half of Tyra's friends don't give a two flying narwhales about her worrying. It's pretty much the same with you, the only comfort being that you know most of your friends have nothing better to do in most of their free time. At least, you can assume that, they always consider your suggestions on other things to play.

You don't know enough about their personal lies to fully understand why they seem to have so much free time, except for Tom. He's been forth coming with his weed affiliation.

Just then, the power goes out.

The light coming from Tyra's Twilight brand Desktop dies out.

You swear it was a blessing, the desktop background was taunting you with it's horrible cover.

Tyra immediately goes ham as she tries desperately to restart the computer, tripping over several dozen bobble-heads made of the cast of Glee in the process.

Not giving a shit, as usual, you're able to stay calm.

Tyra: No! I was just about to check in with Alyssa!

Malcolm: Oh please, I'm sure she's fine. What could possibly happen in Fifteen minutes?

Again, feeling that you've just made a horrible mistake.

Tyra Spins at your words and begins shaking you.

Tyra: Anything could happen in fifteen minutes! We need to get the power back on before the entire operation spirals out of control!

She throws you to the ground like a bitch.

Tyra: We have to find out what happened to the power!

**+{Malcolm: Roll your eyes.**

You roll your eyes in the most non-caring way you can manage before she puts you in a death grip and begins dragging you out of her room.

**+{ Malcolm: Break free in a shocking display of pure strength**

You end up wriggling like an annoyed kitten.

You could probably break out of this if it were any other person on earth, but not Tyra.

You know for a fact that she has a monstrous death grip. She's gone to hundreds of concerts, in half of those she ended up clinging to teen stars. She developed the death grip after years of security trying to remove her from flashy. famous boys.

You know you're not getting out of this.

You are dragged to the living room, which is pretty much the only lit up part of the house. Techno music spewing out of stereos set up all over the place.

The place is lit up by a techno-club ball drilled into the ceiling.

You recall a fan being there... oh wait.

There's the fan, torn out and tossed in the corner like trash.

The techno ball is making your eyes hurt, the flashing lights and spinning colors and whatnot.

On the couch, bobbing his head to some the colors and music, was Tyra's dad. He was easy to see, what with the bright as hell Hawaiian shirt and neon green dyed hair.

You've known Tyra's dad for almost as long as she has. Which is to say a long fucking time. He was kind enough to take you in after your parents died, but you still hate almost every one of his interests. His interests appears to be non stop, fast paced partying. Tyra's dad practically busts a move every thirteen minutes, although you never keep count. He usually has a nasty habit of pulling these party stunts at the most inconvenient times.

Obviously, he would be the one to do this kind of crap.

Couldn't he have just turned off the lights in the living room instead of cutting the power to the hole house?

On that thought, how was he even powering his techno stuff?

A generator hums behind the couch.

Damn, he's so fucking over-complicated.

He spots you two and instantly notices the look in your eyes, or Tyra's to be more specific.

In a flash, he blocks the hallway to the circuit breaker.

Tyra drops you on the round like a sack of trash.

You look at Tyra... yeah you've seen that look before.

It's the same look she gets before diving into an angry mob of fan girls to get a saliva sample from some young hot boy star they're mobbing.

Sigh... you pretty much have to do it now.

Looks like Tyra's already got her Taser out.

**+{ Malcolm: Draw whip.**

In retaliation, Tyra's dad spins in place.

He's somehow able to switch to his combat shoes.

They aren't really made for combat, its just that Tyra's dad has put so many damn chemicals into the things that they were pretty much hard as steel.

**+{Malcolm: Sigh**

_**STRIFE!**_

* * *

GW: YOU WANT ME TO WHAT!?

tz: you have to put something into that floaty glowy thing before you use that crux totem or whatever the hell it is

GW: OH, SO YOU JUST WANT ME TO JUST TOSS ANY OLD RANDOM THING INTO A FLOATING BALL OF MYSTICAL FUCKING ENERGY WITH NO GODDAMN IDEA WHAT ITS SUPPOSED TO DO!?

tz: man, when you put it like that it doesn't seem very smart

GW: OH NO, IT'S NOT THAT ITS NOT SMART. IT'S JUST THAT IT SOUNDS FUCKING RETARDED!

tz: well, its either that or the eighteen tons of space rock about to bust up your island

GW: FUCK. YOU.

**+{Greg: Kick open bedroom door angrily**

Your foot practically rocks the door off its hinges, you've been running back and forth from your room to the foyer so many times, you should probably stop closing the door every time you leave.

**+{Greg: Find something to prototype**

You look around at the puppet limbs and grimace, you don't even want to touch them.

You search your room, digging through desks and whatnot.

Damn Tom for taking your chest! You had so many things in there you could have gotten rid of to make room for more puppets!

Whatever.

Your eyes fall upon the wondrous eyes of Pennywise, who stared at you with that familiar... bloodthirsty... grin.

**+{Greg: Prototype the shit out of that fucking clown**

Well Pennywise, your angelic stare will be in our hearts for years to come.

You hoist the heavy replica and turn towards the kernelsprite.

And you feel your face contort with outrage at the sight before you.

Gagglesprite stares back at you.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

**+{Greg: Rage**

GW: YOU CUNT EATING SHIT MONGERING FAGGOT!

tz: dude, what's with the sudden spike in your douchebag levels?

GW: WHY IS GAGGLES INSIDE THE FUCKING SPRITE?!

tz: that thing's name was gaggles?

tz: and just when I thought you couldn't surprise my ass more

tz: you deserve one hell of an applause

GW: ANSWER ME!

tz: K, listen... you was taking too long, and i spotted your gaggle buddy there and i think... damn, this seems pretty fucking convenient

GW: ARE. YOU. SHITTING ME?!

tz: look man just set up the cruxite shit and get the fuck out of there

GW: I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS BULLSHITTERY YOU'VE PULLED OUT OF YOUR ASS!

tz: well bro

tz: the meteor?

GW: FUCK THE METEOR.

GW: FUCK THIS GAME.

GW: FUCK YOU.

tz: dude

GW: FUCK MALCOLM

GW: FUCK SALMON

tz: are you for real right now?

GW: FUCK YOUR FAMILY

GW: FUCK YOUR HOUSE

GW: FUCK YOUR FACE

GW: FUCK YOUR FRIENDS

tz: shit man, i'll chat when you're less of a pansy

GW: GAGGLES WAS ONE OF MY FAVORITES! HE WAS A FAMILY HEIRLOOM!

tz: holy shit

tz: you can type something other than fuck

tz: mind=blown

GW: GOD DAMNITT, HOW DO I CHANGE HIM BACK!

tz: i dunno, he's a sprite now

GW: I GET THAT MUCH!

tz: you know blowing air like this ain't gonna help you none bro

GW: I DON'T CARE! IT'S THE ONLY THING DISTRACTING ME FROM THE FUCKING FREE-FOR-ALL YOU'RE PULLING ON MY HOUSE!

tz: you know how much i've been sighing since i started talking with you?

* * *

**+{Greg: Be Cindy Maxwell**

You are now Cindy Maxwell, and you have to say that your dress is looking particularly beautiful today.

After setting up SMoD for your friend Harley, you pretty much left her to follow the diretions while checking yourself out in the big ass mirror in the corner of your room.

Ahhh~ you really are the most beautiful creature to crawl from the womb.

Everything about you radiates royalty...

Clothes, hair, eyes.

You would be a super model by now if it weren't for your youth.

Once you come of age your father will let you out into the big wide world to take it over as you please. Away from the mansion and out to grip your success by the throat before beating it into submission!

You can see it now.

Your beauty spread across every magazine cover, your face on every ad they could possibly put on the air.

You're practically prepped for infinite success.

Well, that would be the case if your world wasn't about to get destroyed by a horde of meteors.

And the only way to stop them was by playing a game.

Curse fate for giving you such a dramatic scenario!

You sigh once more as you return to your computer screen, Harley seems to be doing okay. What with being a commoner and such.

In fact, what with your impending demise speeding towards you, all you can do is chat with others while waiting.

You know for a fact it would be fun to rustle the feathers of a particularly angry boy you know.

The two of you basically find the idea of each other alone to be the most repulsive thing in existence.

His love of puppets is not the least of the many things you can find to hate about him.

It's become a sport of sorts, seeing how much you can enrage each other online.

You'd even dare to say that it's, well... fun!

If there were ever something in existence to describe the wonderful hatred you hold toward each other, you'd never let it go.

But enough of that.

Tyra, the girl who told you all about the game, hasn't chatted with you in a full twelve minutes.

You should be thankful, she was becoming bothersome what with her frequency.

But... you know that she usually doesn't stop obsessing over things, what could be holding her up?

**+{Cindy: Examine room**

Your room is wide and open, adorned with garments of silk and fine tapestries.

Your walk-in closet is lit up, the hundreds of fine clothing visible even from all the way across the room.

The massive mirror's excellent craftsmanship prompt you to run your hands along it.

Mmmmm, yes... you can practically feel the sheer cost of it.

You lean close and run a tongue along the side of it. The carving was masterful.

A little nibble here.

**+{Cindy: Cease unladylike antics.**

You reluctantly pull away from the expensive mirror and turn back to your room.

Your bed is large and set with only the most comfortable of sheets available.

You heard that seven men lost their lives getting the materials necessary to make this bed.

Your wonderful dreams are a testament that their sacrifice was not in vain.

Next to your bed is your computer, which is solid gold.

Well the insides aren't, but the covering is worth more than twenty peasants could put together over the course of their entire lives.

The fact that it was so pricey makes your knees wobble.

You really like expensive things.

You should probably find something to distract yourself with before you start feeling up the four million dollar carpet.

**+{Cindy: Examine chat rooms**

Hmmm, Tyra has been really quite, you hardly see any evidence of her checking with the others for the past fifteen minutes.

You should probably check with the others about-

- oh?

What's this?

It seems that ever-so-reliable Tom is chatting with the filth-eater.

You won't bother using the parasite's name.

Obviously, Tom came through with delivering your message!

Oh joy!

Now you can swoop in and deliver a perfectly timed finisher!

Cindy Maxwell, you're one crafty fox.

**+{Cindy: Deliver perfectly timed finisher**

GW: I GET THAT MUCH!

tz: you know blowing air like this ain't gonna help you none bro

GW: I DON'T CARE! IT'S THE ONLY THING DISTRACTING ME FROM THE FUCKING FREE-FOR-ALL YOU'RE PULLING ON MY HOUSE!

tz: you know how much i've been sighing since i started talking with you?

GloriousMistress[GM] has joined the room...

GW: OH FOR FUCK'S SAKES

GM: Oh pity, are you giving my humble servant a problem you crazed individual?

tz: damn, shit just got real

GW: WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT YOU FANCY WHORE?!

GW: CAN'T YOU SEE I'M CHEWING UP THIS POT-HEADED FUCKER?!

GM: Awe, is the baby sad that I interrupted his milky time?

GW: DAMNITT WOMAN, MY LIFE'S ON THE LINE AND HE'S FUCKING WITH MY HOME!

GW: FIND SOMEONE ELSE TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOUR ROYAL ASS!

GW: OH WAIT

GW: THERE'S. FUCKING. NOBODY!

tz: well, guess I'm sitting this one out.

GM: I'll have you know that billions wish they could be me!

GW: OH? WHO'D YOUR FATHER BLOW TO GET THAT?

GM: My father makes what your family does in a week!

tz: actually, greg don't have no family

GM: Oh, well then I'm sorry for that one.

GM: But it doesn't change the fact that you're poor!

tz: dude lives on an island

GM: YOU'LL NEVER BE RICHER THAN ME!

tz: holy shit

tz: I just saw some weird fucking similarities just now

GW: WHAT FUN

GW: WATCHING TWO RETARDS SCRAMBLE TO FIND PURCHASE

GW: DO YOU NEED HELP FINDING A BABYSITTER TO CHANGE YOUR ADULT DIAPERS?

GM: You have no right to speak of the fodder like that!

tz: yeah girl!

tz: wait

tz: did you just refer to the mentally challenged as fodder?

GM: Well... they do make good fodder don't you think

GW: WHAT!?

GW: WELL IN THAT CASE THEIR THE MOST WONDERFUL FORM OF HUMAN EVER!

GW: I'D NEVER AGREE WITH YOU ON ANYTHING

GW: DON'T UNDERMINE THOSE WITH NO CONTROL OVER THEIR SITUATION

GW: YOU ARROGANT SLUT!

tz: did

tz: did you two just do a 180 opinion wise?

GM: I AM NOT A SLUT!

GW: WELL THEN STOP JERKING GUYS IN PUBLIC RESTROOMS

GM: I WOULD NEVER DO SOMETHING SO FILTHY YOU PUPPET FUCKING MORON

GW: I WOULD NEVER TAINT MY PUPPETS WITH HUMAN FLESH

GM: OH, SO YOU'VE CONSIDERED IT

GW: MAYBE, BUT THAT'S NOT THE FUCKING POINT

tz: holy

GM: WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S NOT THE POINT? THAT WAS THE POINT OF THE ENTIRE CONVERSATION

GW: I GET THE FEELING WE WEREN'T TALKING ABOUT FUCKING PUPPETS AT THE BEGINNING OF THIS CONVERSATION

tz: shit

GM: WELL YOU WERE GOING TO TURN IT TO PUPPETS EVENTUALLY!

tz: this is how you two chat all week long?

* * *

**+{Tom: Be bored as hell**

They weren't even responding to your messages anymore.

Damnitt, Greg's putting his own life on the line by not getting his Totem made.

Well, might as well make it fun.

**+{Tom: Access hidden stash**

You walk over to a seemingly blank wall and rub a hand along it till you find a thin string hanging out.

Pulling the string opens the hidden door, immediately spewing the pounds upon pounds of weed across your floor.

**+{Tom: Clean it up before your Bro sniffs it out.**

With speed of a flying zebra, you shovel as much of your stash into the wall as possible.

Taking one for your own needs.

You dig through your sylladex and retrieve some paper which you then dump some weed into. You roll it into a blunt

**+{Tom: Light up**

You cannot light up do the fact that you don't have your lighter, you left it in your desk

**+{Retrieve Lighter**

You retrieve the dirty violet lighter from your drawer.

You've had it for as long as you remember, it's certainly gotten worn-looking in the years.

But you'd never trade it for any other, it was the best lighter on earth.

Just one flick and it would light up no problem, the flame would stay strong in even the most severe of winds.

And you never needed to refill it.

You never questioned the oddity of why it never seemed to run out of fuel through the years.

**+{Tom light up**

* * *

**+{_STRIFE!}+_**

You are currently imbedded in the living room wall.

After dodging some attacks your Uncle spin kicked you.

The force just so happened to be enough to wedge you in the architecture.

Now you're forced to watch as your Uncle and Tyra stared each other down under the techno ball.

Tyra looks pissed, and your Uncle's pretty much doing a full dance routine while keeping his body in place.

You don't know how he's doing that.

It's like his feet are literally gliding along the floor.

Seeing her chance, Tyra leaps into the air.

Not anticipating her sudden change of target, your Uncle can only watch in horror as she jams her Taser directly into the techno ball.

She performs an enthusiastic youth roll before landing behind him.

Seeing that the party was dead, your Uncle tears a bunch of One Republic CDs out of the cabinet under the TV before absconding out the window.

You wonder how he cleans the place when you two aren't watching.

Tyra rushes down the hall leading to the circuit breaker, and minutes later you have light.

**+{Malcolm: Seek Assistance**

Malcolm: Hey Ty!

Malcolm: A little help here?

Tyra rushes past you to her room, no doubt to immediately resume pestering the crap out of her friends.

You sigh before attempting to extricate your self from the wall.

**+{Malcolm: Break free in a super human expression of muscle!**

You flail your limbs like a turtle on its back. The only thing you are successful in doing is making yourself look like a weak idiot.

Seriously, how can a middle-aged man kick like that?

It's like he kicked you with the strength of the incredible hulk.

* * *

**+{Malcolm: Be Tom**

You are tripping balls on an all new level.

Sitting back in your chair while you watch the chat log fill with Cindy and Greg's hatred, you take another long drag on the beauty of a blunt you have.

Everything looks green and shaky.

You left Greg with everything he'd need to advance, even going so far as to leave the Pre-punched card on his bed.

Not much you can do now besides wait for the two of them to stop whining.

In the mean time.

Puff, Puff, and Puff again.

You are actually getting quite agitated by the arguing. The longer Greg takes to set up the pre-punched card takes them closer to a complete Game Over.

You sigh again, maybe you should prototype something else into the Gagglesprite.

You know that most things will just give the Game's enemies more features, but what if you prototype something harmless?

Maybe you could even prototype something cuddly or something.

**+{Tom: Search Greg's room**

In your wasted delirium, you search through Greg's room.

Literally everything in it looks like it would be antagonizing in some way.

All of the freaky puppets, you're pretty sure Gaggles was enough.

The floors and walls looked creaky and in disrepair.

Even the bed was filthy and crumbly.

How the fuck has Greg been living like this?

Gagglesprite watches as you search the room.

There were some broken pieces of wood lying around, but they were all jagged and sharp.

Maybe the severed puppet limbs?

They weren't full puppets, so what would they do?

Give the enemies extra arms, or change their current ones?

If he could get a broken one, that would probably leave them with only one arm.

That may help.

You search through the rest of Greg's depressing and ominous home.

It looked like the set of a horror movie.

The number of puppets strewn about was really starting to piss you off.

No really, where did he get so many from?

The thought makes you pause, where did Greg get all these puppets from?

Did he have them when he first came there?

Did he have them shipped to his island?

But that would imply that he's got contact with the outside world, and if that was true then why didn't he go for help?

Gagglesprite watched as you searched through the house-

Wait a minute..

**+{ Tom: Think about it for a minute**

Despite the amount of weed clouding your thoughts you begin thinking.

Gagglesprite was watching you.

Like, literally right at you through the screen.

His puppet eyes and grin smeared across his sprite body.

What the hell?

He looks as if... he's expecting something.

**+{Tom: Look closer**

* * *

Tom leaned close to his computer. As he did so, Gagglesprite's eyes seemed to roll in back of his head, on the backside were large glowing, blue triangles.

As Tom leaned forward, the Blue Triangles pulsed with a blinding flash of color that made him cry out as it pierced into his peripherals.

Tom's spasming hand inched towards his mouse, and he soon found his cursor grabbing hold of a First Aid kit Greg had left open. Tom brought the kit to Gagglesprite before proceeding to prototype some needles into it.

As soon as the deed was done, Gagglesprite seemed to smirk. Tom clamped his hands to his eyes as he fell from his chair.

Meanwhile, Greg's rage war with Cindy was interrupted. His computer pulsed a vibrant blue before crashing.

Greg snarled as he beat the side of his computer.

The already ominous lights dimmed even more, allowing Greg to notice the coloration of the outside.

Through his window, everything seemed to be bathed in an orangey color. Glancing up, Greg's pupils shrank as he saw the massive figure of a Meteor heading straight for him.

Panicking, Greg spun around.

Only to come face to face with Gagglesprite, who now had dozens of needle apparitions puncturing him all over the place.

Naddlesprite had a card hooked onto one of the needles and he laughed before quickly flying out of the room.

Greg yelled at him as he pursued.

Meanwhile, Tom struggled to get up from the floor, still holding on to his aching eyes.

He used his cannon to prop him up before attempting to open his eyes.

...

Now either he'd lost a major portion of sight, or their was more smoke in the room than he'd originally thought.

Sighing, Tom turns to what he guesses is his desk.

He reaches for it, and slides open a drawer before reaching in.

Inside are a massive pair of thick glasses

Meanwhile, Naddlesprite led Greg to the Totem Lathe, where it then dropped the pre-punched card.

Greg caught up, just a bit out of breath, before swiping up the card and scolding Naddlesprite.

Naddlesprite just laughed before flying through the nearby wall.

Greg grimaced before checking the Totem Lathe, the cruxite dowel was in place.

He snarled at the wall Naddlesprite had exited through before resentfully using the Pre-punched card.

The Totem Lathe began carving the Cruxite Dowel, which was quickly formed into an odd looking Totem.

Wasting no time, Greg grabbed the Totem and raced to the foyer.

Inside, Naddlesprite was laughing his ass off as he floated around the Alchemiter.

Greg prepared to scold the shit out of Naddlesprite for touching his card, when suddenly things started getting hot.

Looking through a nearby window, Greg saw the massive Meteor bearing down on him.

Now in full on frantic mode, Greg used the Totem with the Alchemiter.

Almost immediately, his hands were trapped in two large handcuffs.

Before he could get enraged by it, Naddlesprite flew right up in his face before laughing rather obnoxiously.

Greg began yelling back at Naddlesprite, thrashing his arms around in the cuffs as they argued.

Raging, Greg didn't notice Naddlesprite levitating a kitchen knife from the cluttered kitchen.

He did however, notice the whirring sound as Naddlesprite launched it at him.

Turning toward the sound, Greg instinctively raised his hands to defend himself.

The blade cut into the chain of the cuffs, weakening them as it was lodged inside them.

Greg blinked at the blade that hang from the chain.

He looked at Naddlesprite, only to find the obnoxious apparition wielding more sharp objects in its ghostly appendages.

Greg freaked and immediately lunged behind the Alchemiter.

As Naddlesprite began throwing a random assortment of items, Greg struggled to get out of the cuffs.

Finally, at just the right angle... they snapped.

And instantly half of the island was bathed in light. As the monstrous inhabitants of the island ran for dear life from the incoming meteor, the land around them glowed.

Suddenly that glowing half of the island simply disappeared.

* * *

**+{Tom: Put on the glasses**

You cannot even begin to describe how much you hate these damn glasses.

You had them back when you were a kid, back when you had some kind of eye infection.

The doctors treated you, but you had to wear these massive ass glasses for three years afterwards.

Just look at them, they were thicker than coke bottles.

Hell, they're probably made out of the same stuff astronauts have as visors.

You haven't looked at these things in years, but your bro wanted them near in case your eyesight went haywire again.

With a sigh, you don the massive pair of glasses.

Dear god, they look corny as hell.

* * *

**Review and tell me what may need fixing or adjustment or whatever.**

**First Time writing Homestuck Fanfiction.**

**Wanted it to feel like it was in the true Homestuck format despite being comprised of text.**

**Would like some criticism in case I feel like continuing.**


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